Dear Dad,

One year ago today, you started your cosmic journey. It is a day that frankly haunts me. I can remember seeing your face in the clouds on the ride home from the hospital. There are other things I wish I could forget.

There were so many times I wanted to call you and tell you something funny or interesting or recommend an awesome movie. Those are the worst moments.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't hear a song on the radio that reminds me of you. Indigo Girls or Enya or Steeleye Span will come on shuffle in the car and I turn up the volume to sing along. Well, except to Enya because what the fuck is she even saying really?

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains
There's more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine, yeah

I watch movies like Big Trouble In Little China or the Golden Child because they make me feel good. I have VHS tapes from the 80's where you are smiling and laughing and cracking jokes. On my second birthday when you and Mom and me were walking around in the wilds of Waldwick, you posed for a picture with mom while Jimmy Ambrose held the camera and you kept grabbing mom's boob. It was pretty hilarious. Neither of you have changed one bit. It's funny to hear your young voices, octaves higher than now. Still slinging the same catchphrases and making the same faces. I don't know if having the ability to see you and hear you and watch you live again is a blessing or not. It's almost cruel in a way.

If I see a silver beard and a motorcycle, for a minute I think it's you, everytime.

It hasn't gotten any easier. There are a lot of things I regret. There are a lot of things I wish I hadn't said and I lot of things I wish I had said. Regrets are pointless, but I think that makes them sting all the more. Am I making sense?

I don't think anyone is having an easy time with your absense. We all have guilt and regret to deal with, and it hasn't come easy. There have been injuries along the way, miss-steps. I'm not sure what to do now; not sure there is anything left to do except try to figure out how life looks without you. I hope you are out there in the stars keeping an eye on things and it brings me comfort to imagine that. It's probably a fairytale, but if anyone can make me believe in magic it is you.

Belief in magic was your gift to me.

Please watch over us. Especially my brothers. I love you. I wish you were here.

Love,

David

PS - There are still no aliens and Hillary Clinton hasn't transformed into a lizard on live television yet. Yet.

Shiver Me Timbers

It's been a while. Don't sing the song.

I have trouble with time management in my personal life. And dishes. And laundry.

Next to my bed there is a milk-crate filled with mismatched socks. On my counter there is a portrait of Danny DeVito as Frank Reynolds next to a picture of my grandparents which is next to Piper and Leo's wedding picture (they are characters from the original Charmed series for those not in the know). I'm half-decorated for Halloween and there are wigs and large high-heeled shoes strewn about the wreckage that is my apartment. It looks like a drag queen lives here, but she's nowhere to be found.

I wonder where she could be?

There is a Korean BBQ salmon burger in the fridge, whatever the shit that means. I guess I could cook it. I will probably end up eating 3 Italian Ices instead. Maybe I'll order take-out. Any suggestions?

We find out if we won the Eisner Award on July 19th. I hope we win. We might. I'm going to law-of-attraction-the-secret this shit right now. We won the Eisner. We got the animated series. We got the merchandising deals. You heard, Universe?

I just want to be able to move into a cute house with some land so I can write all day and eat cucumber salad I made with shit from my garden. I want a Green Acres moment, feeding the chickens in a feathered negligee. I want to make dinner for my man every night and sit on the porch sipping tea waiting for my 5mg melatonin to kick in. It isn't a long list of demands.

I'm plugging along at present. I have a cat shaped pillow that is very cute and cuddly. I sleep with it every night; it brings me peace. I have rediscovered the virtues of pink cake.

I'm so f*cking hungry right now. Korean BBQ salmon burger. What was I thinking?

the Community is Suffering

A note left in the suggestion box at my job:

"I protest the discontinuation of frozen onion rings. I come here to buy a steak and onion rings. If no onion rings, no steak!"

This is maybe a week after a woman demanding organic rotisserie chickens with herbs said without the aforementioned chickens "the community is suffering". This is obviously a person that has never experienced suffering or doesn't know the meaning of the word.

These are the same people that characterize the absence of their favorite flavor of Halo Top as an "outrage". Human trafficking is an outrage. An out-of-stock Salted Caramel gelato is a minor inconvenience, at best.

Retail is more challenging than people think. It takes every fiber of my willpower to hold my tongue sometimes.

I wake up at 6AM and lay in bed wondering if this is really my life or if I woke up in someone else's body. There is a paper plate with corn chip fragments on it and a glob of congealed cheese dip. No, it's definitely my body.

I hit snooze until I can't hit it anymore. Perhaps a meteor will hit Earth today and I won't have to go in. I turn on the TV while I brush my teeth. A mattress ad comes on Hulu, and it says I spend approximately a third of my life in bed. I wonder how much of my life I spend at work, but the thought is too depressing so I start to run the shower.

First the cleanser, then the exfoliator, then the trance. I close my eyes as the hot water runs over my body. Other than bed, this is my favorite place to be. I scrub my body with a whipped soap that smells like an oatmeal cookie and for a moment I feel good. I realize that time dissolves when I'm in here with my fancy soaps and my scented oils and soon I have to leave the comforting warmth of the hard water. Toner, serum, moisturizer. I look better than when I woke up, but I still feel the same. I smile in the mirror, practicing for later when I'll have to do this over and over again even though I don't mean it once.

Things are sure to get better. I just need to be patient. Keep smiling. Keep smiling. Keep smiling. Keep smiling.

Tomorrow is another day.

Papa Poopagain and other tales

I have been labeled "the odd man out" because I'm one of the few people in my life that doesn't like Taco Bell. It goes through me like shit through a goose. It has also, on a number of occasions, caused me to involuntarily vocalize during a bowel movement. I don't know about you, but I don't enjoy eating and then twenty minutes later running to the bathroom to bellow loudly whilst evacuating.

I am already frequently visited by Papa Poopagain. He is basically like the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny; a specialized imaginary character with a limited scope. Did you just poop five minutes ago and now suddenly you have to go again? Papa Poopagain. Did you literally just flush the toilet and pull your pants up only to realize there is still more to come? Papa Poopagain. I only recently revealed my belief in Papa Poopagain to my significant other to which he replied, "You are my favorite person."

There isn't any intact mythology surrounding Papa Poopagain. I haven't really thought about it much, to be honest. My gut tells me that he's an eternal being that has always been with us. There is no way to appease him. We are all slaves to his whim.

*

I'm watching Season 11 of RuPaul's Drag Race: a show I enjoy mostly because I hate it. All I will say at this point in the season is that no one has grabbed me by the shoulders and screamed "I'm your favorite!" in my face. No one is wowing me. I'm thoroughly underwhelmed if that counts for anything. The writing is worse than ever, underscored by the larger-than-life production value (a budget they clearly aren't spending on writers or Ru's dresses).

All tea, all shade.

*

The music at my job has been trapped in the 90's for weeks. Most people seem unbothered and "just block it out", but I am not able to do so. My mind hyperfocuses on the Hootie and the Blowfish song and it becomes torture. This is not helped by the fact that my employer (a nameless multi-billion dollar corporation) seems to have only purchased about fifteen songs that play over and over again at the same times every day. So Hell, basically.

There is never a good time for a Sugar Ray song. How about two in one day? How about we add a couple of Smashmouth songs to that and follow it up with some Hanson? It makes you wonder who is making these decisions and whether or not they deserve to continue living among us.

*

Also, as I find it difficult to motivate myself, if you have anything you'd like me to write about please post it in the comments below. I have a lot to say about most things, and I find most things disagreeable to some extent. Don't be shy.

Sweet and spicy, just like grandma...

I know a thing or two about grandmas. You might say I'm a grandma expert.

Hello, my name is David, and I'm a Male Grandma. I feel better already.

My special abilities are thoughtful gifts and soup. I am beloved of animals and babies. I know my way around a garage sale. I strongly believe that food solves most problems. I require hugs to maintain my magic. Grandma Magic.

What does any of this have to do with the McDonald's commercials other than repeated and deliberate use of the word "grandma"? I won't answer that or any of your other questions, Becky.

I've often been described as motherly. At first, I was insulted by this. My latent masculinity programming would automatically go on the offense. Motherly? Excuse you? The Masculinity Protocol doesn't allow for comparisons to any female characteristic, least of all that of a mother. As I grew and matured, I came to realize that being compared to a mother wasn't an insult. The people that were saying it were people close to me, so their intent was not to ridicule or emasculate me. I'm caring and empathetic like a mother. A compliment. Never been good at taking those. Where was I going with this?

I notice when people get haircuts. This startles some people, especially men. To the straight male mind, when I say "Hey! You got a haircut. Looks good." that translates to "Yo, lemme get that dick".

I dadsplain more than I mansplain. The difference is intent. Dadspaining comes from a place of love and concern. Perhaps you don't know the proper way to remove an engorged tick. Allow me to dadsplain that process to you, as well as the dangers of Lyme Disease. There is an easier way to complete the task you are doing, allow me to give you an unsolicited tutorial on my superior method because I love you. It's not as bad.

I'm working through a lot right now, mentally and emotionally. My Dad passed away on August 10th. I haven't talked much about it. I don't know that I'm going to. I don't know that anything makes any sense. And that's the one thing I know for sure.

Things get weird for me. I'm sure it gets weird for everyone, but I only know from my own perception how weird it gets. Life feels like a movie I'm watching. I feel like a spectator.

Some days, I don't feel anything. I wonder sometimes if my feelings are only the feelings of the people around me and that when I'm by myself I don't really feel anything.

I'm at the beginning of a two week break. I'm not sure what I want to get out of it other than doing some laundry and throwing away a lot of shit. The head-space I'm in right now is uncharted territory for me. Where do I go from here?

I'm trying to keep it sweet and spicy, like grandma. Maybe a little bit more spice than sugar. I want to be a more authentic me, but I'm not sure what that looks like. I don't recognize myself sometimes.

Control is really just the illusion of control. Keep the plates spinning. Figure it out. Don't stop moving.


Day 1. Rest.

Circus Peanuts

Now with Nutritionally Oriented Clowns!

Circus Peanuts originated in the 19th century in Nebraska. Some dude made them, modeled after a peanut-shaped insulation material used in barns. He distributed them once a year when the circus came to town. Hence, Circus Peanuts. Thanks, Nebraska.

They were originally orange flavored, but now they are predominantly banana flavored (but orange colored). Neither flavor makes sense to me, really. Why make it in the shape of a peanut and taste like a banana or an orange? Make it in the shape of a fucking banana and make it yellow. It's an affront to the delicacy of my nature.

Screenshot from the Circus Peanut wikipedia page. "Academics enjoying circus peanuts"? I'm not buying it.

You might be asking yourself, "Who cares, Dave? What are you going on about?"

I'm obsessed with them. We should discuss this further.

Candy falls into a few categories for me:

1. Granny Candy: Werther's Originals, those strawberry ones with the goo inside, Andes Mints, spice drops, ribbon candy, violets, Mary Janes, Tootsie Rolls, Good and Plenty, Black Jack gum.

2. that Good Good: Butterfinger, Almond Joy, Jolly Ranchers, KitKats, Peanut M&Ms, Reeses anything, Big League Chew, Twix, Nerds

3. Vom-O-Rama: candy corn, the pumpkins that are made of the same filth as candy corn, circus peanuts, those weird dots on the paper strip - what IS that?

It's no secret that I'm neurotic. I zero in on one thing and it's very distracting. Every time I see a cellophane bag full of circus peanuts, something inside me tingles. If I'm out with someone and I see a bag, I will try to get the person to buy them and eat them. No one likes Circus Peanuts, so my gentle suggestion degrades into a dare. To date, no one has ever taken that dare despite relentless goading. For sooth, I seriously doubt anyone actually buys them (Unless you hate yourself or it's a gag gift. Ooo! Christmas idea!) Are candy companies still making them just for the hell of it? Is there a big following for Circus Peanuts? Are these the kinds of things that keep me up on a Wednesday night? Truly. Who likes them? Am I friends with people that eat Circus Peanuts? Closeted Circus Peanut sympathizers? Make yourselves known. I'll be merciful.

Candy Corn is another one. I know that I hate them, yet any time they are made available I will still try one. Like, "I know I don't like these, but maybe I'm not remembering it right. Let me try one just to make sure."

Wash it down with a Kombucha. What is wrong with everyone? Kombucha does not taste good. It tastes like seltzer and apple cider vinegar and yeast queefs. Don't kid yourself.

I thought this entry was going to be about Circus Peanuts, but clearly it has shifted gears and is now just about stuff I don't like. Let's continue.

Water Chestnuts? Why are you doing this to me, Chinese Food Industrial Complex? WHO LIKES WATER CHESTNUTS?! They taste like crunchy nothing! There is no point! Don't try to sell me on the texture. Crunchy. Nothing. Bye.

Lima beans? As a child, my mother left me in a dark kitchen with a plate full of lima beans and I wasn't allowed to get up from the table until the lima beans were done. F*ck lima beans.

Escargot? Never in a million years.

Creamsicles taste like poverty.

Purple flavored anything is for assholes.

I make no apologies.

Spectral Garage

"I don't remember that rotten garage being there before," said David, peering at a dilapidated old stone-and-mortar garage that sat on a hill in the distance.

"It's the Mandela Effect," said Dane without looking up. He was otherwise engaged with repairing his harpoon gun.

"No, I mean it wasn't there a few minutes ago and now it's there. I don't know if that qualifies as the Mandela Effect. And for the record, Nelson Mandela died in 2013, not the 80's."

Dane locked a harpoon into the muzzle of his cannon and fired it into the trunk of a maple tree behind David.

"That's what they want you to think." he said.

David rolled his eyes. "How long has Dylan been gone?" he asked.

"Coupla hours."

David snapped his fingers, summoning his grimoire. The eldritch tome appeared suddenly, floating in front of him. It opened and the pages started to turn themselves rapidly before stopping on an entry entitled Spectral Garages. He read aloud:

"Spectral garages and other menacingly out-of-place buildings are a rare occurrence in the Shift. Though most spectral garages are perfectly benign, one should always proceed with caution as they are occasionally portals to pocket dimensions or storage facilities for unsavory characters. Usually, if you wait long enough they disappear."

Dane sucked his teeth. "You love that book."

The book closed and vanished instantly.

The bushes rustled and Dylan emerged, covered in purple slime. Dane, who a millisecond earlier had been pointing his two sidearms at those same bushes lowered his weapons and laughed uncontrollably.

Dylan's eyes narrowed. He always did this when he felt some kind of way. This earned him the nickname Squintin Tarantino.

"What happened? What is that?" asked David.

Dane continued to laugh.

"Stepped on a caco-fairy nest on my way back. Apparently they explode when electrocuted." Dylan said, squinting at Dane who was now on the ground cackling.

"Looks like Barney bukakke to me," said Dane, grinning madly as he got to his feet, dusting himself off.

David raised his hand, his eyes clouding over, "Purifico!" A small flash, and the slime was gone.

"Thanks, bro." said Dylan.

"Did you find it?" asked David.

Dylan reached into his pack and pulled out something wrapped in rags and handed it to him.

"Wasn't cheap. She wanted twice what we were offering."

David carefully unwrapped the item while Dane and Dylan looked on. Inside the tattered rags was a small wooden sphere. It was a rich mahogany color and covered in etched arcane symbols. This was what they had been looking for.

"How did you get it? I sent you with everything we had."

Dylan seemed distracted by something in the distance. "Uh, guys?"

David and Dane turned around. The spectral garage was gone. In it's place was an inexplicable creature the size of a school bus. It appeared to be composed almost completely of tentacles and a massive solitary eye. It let out a shrill shriek that reverberated through the forest, shaking the leaves above them. Though it had no mouth to speak of, it almost certainly meant to devour them.

(To be continued...)